


Wings

by raunchyandpaunchy



Series: Sun's Dawn [21]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2019, Foreshadowing, One Shot, Pining, Pre-Canon, Secret Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-07 05:13:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17954231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: Morwen had always had an interest in Nightingales.





	Wings

“Rock warbler?”

Morwen traced the charcoal across the parchment, drawing the shape of a wing on the page. “Don’t think so. Their call’s more pronounced. Like this.” She pressed her lips together, whistling a sharp, fast bird call that caused the brush to rustle.

Karliah’s lavender eyes darted across the skyline. “Pine thrush then, maybe?” She scattered a few crumbs from her bread onto the clearing in front. “They’re fairly common.”

“Their call isn’t as pretty.” Grey fingers smudged along the lines, adding shadow and depth to the bird. “Not enough pines around here, either.”

“I give up,” Karliah sighed. “I’m better at break-ins than I am at birds.”

Morwen shut her sketchbook, placing it next to her as she stretched out. It was a balmy day, warm and breezy and pleasant, and she allowed herself to relax and enjoy nature’s bounty, free from swinging a pickaxe in a dark cave. Karliah hummed contentedly as she bit into her apple. She had brought the food—benefits of knowing a trained rogue, she’d joked—and Morwen had brought… herself. That, extensive knowledge on birds, and her drawings.

“Managed to pick a safe open the other day,” Karliah said, smiling. “Only took me three lockpicks.”

Karliah had been practicing thievery for as long as Morwen had known her—Karliah’s mother Dralsi had confided in Morwen of their skills when first inviting her into her home, and it had indirectly benefitted her ever since. Their home was a tribute to practiced larceny; trinkets situated merrily on mantlepieces and shelves, and offerings placed around a dark, cloaked shrine, a bird perched merrily on its shoulder, wings tucked in and glassy eye watching Morwen everywhere she went.

“At this rate you’ll be able to rob in the city,” Morwen said excitedly. “Might even rob the Jarl in a few years.”

“Maybe.” Karliah’s voice was tinged with sorrow, and as Morwen looked she could see the uncertainty swimming in the mer’s eyes. “Do you…” Karliah’s hands clasped together, fingers worrying at each other. She sighed. “Do you ever feel like your path in life is set, and you don’t really have a say in it?”

An interesting question, especially one to ask an orphaned Dunmer raised by Nord miners in a town where she was destined to do nothing but dig for ore for the rest of her life. “Do you think if I thought that, I’d be drawing and writing and planning to leave Shor’s Stone as soon as I’m able?”

Karliah’s brow furrowed as she considered.

“I think the only person responsible for our destiny is us. We might be led to places, but if it’s not the path we’d want to choose, we don’t have to take it,” Morwen said with finality.

“Fair point.” Karliah’s hand reached for Morwen’s sketchbook, and her heart leapt as she idly flicked through the pages, full of birds and nature and a Dunmer with a kind smile and piercing, pale eyes. Something unfamiliar crept across Karliah’s face—whether it was good or bad, Morwen couldn’t tell. As if to break the silence, the bird called out again, clear and singsong and melodic.

“Nightingale,” Morwen said, needing to break the increasingly awkward silence. “That’s the bird. The one making that call. You can tell because it’s a really beautiful call. It’s also the bird I was drawing.” She knew she was rambling, but she couldn’t stop. Sweaty palms dragged across her cloth trousers, attempting to relieve the nervousness.

Karliah gazed at the drawing, fingers tracing around the edges of the bird. “Nightingale,” she repeated, curious and distant, as if trying to piece some puzzle together. She shut the book, pensive, eventually laying back to watch the stars. Morwen followed, feeling the grass cool and damp beneath her back as torchbugs and luna moths danced above, and wondered if Karliah saw the same things in the stars as she did.


End file.
